Patrick Creek Campground is where Patrick Creek and the middle fork of Smith River meet about seven miles east of Gasquet in Del Norte County, California. It is one of the places we used to go on family outings when I was a kid.
The campground has steps, rock walls, restrooms and sunken campfire circles built-in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps. There is no electricity, water or sewer hookups making it a rustic place to spend the night.
Dad wasn’t known to wade into cold water above his knees because of injuries sustained in the Korean War; they would begin to ache and swell making walking hard. Also in the water is Deirdre, who appears to be dunking Adam under water.
When Adam turned nine-years-old, he asked to have a party at Patrick Creek. This is him opening one of his presents — a Big Jim Camping Set. I was jealous, because I wanted one too, but at 12, I was too old for such a toy.
This me with an inner-tube in hand on the bank opposite from our campsite. We always camped in the same spot, year-to-year.
Adam was our family’s ‘class clown,’ doing whatever he could to stir-the-pot from imitating John Wayne to threatening to splash whom ever was taking the picture. Nearby is Deirdre, possibly chasing a fish, while Marcy is wondering along the far bank.
Ever the ‘momma-bear,’ Mom is again shouting instructions to one of us kids. (Not me this time as I’m taking the picture.) Maybe it was to Marcy — who may have wondered to far from the campsite.
Eventually, Dad would zone out, fall asleep and snore, sounding like a freight train in a canyon, letting nothing bother him. No wonder Mom was always hollering at us kids.
How I miss those days.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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